“Wait… so dad was getting cash from all of them?” Gillian interrupts.
“That’s what it looks like,” I say, once again studying the blue glare of the monitor. “And the money never stopped flowing.”
Gillian looks around, making sure no one’s nearby. Charlie steps away from her, just to be safe. He can’t help himself. “You think dad was blackmailing them?” she asks.
“I don’t know – but when you look at what he did in the trust account – and then with Tanner Drew – it’s like the transfers shouldn’t exist. Forget what it says here. On the bank’s system, not a single dollar left any of these accounts. I mean, it’s almost like this ticking program is convincing the computer to see what’s not really-” My chest tightens and I freeze.
“What? What’s wrong?” Gillian asks.
“You okay?” Charlie adds, shoving her aside and putting a hand on the back of my neck.
“Oh, crap…” I stutter, pointing to the screen. “That’s what he invented.” My voice rattles down the runway, slowly taking off. “It’s like a funhouse mirror – it shows you a reality that’s not really there.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“I mean, how else do you get a credit to match the corresponding debit? That’s what the Secret Service wanted to invest in… and that’s what Gallo wanted for himself. The next step in financial crime. Virtual counterfeiting. Why steal money when you can just create it?”
“What do you mean, create it?” my brother asks.
“Electronically make it. Convince the computer it exists. Build it out of thin air.”
Charlie goes back to the screen. “Sombitch…”
“Wait a minute,” Gillian says. “You think my dad created all that cash?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. That would explain why the Service is on it, instead of the FBI. It’s like Shep said – they’re the ones with jurisdiction over counterfeiting.”
“But to build money out of nothing…” Gillian begins.
“… would make a VC place like Five Points Capital wet itself. Think about how it played out: Six days ago, Martin Duckworth had three million dollars in his account. Three days ago, the computer said it was three hundred and thirteen million. But when you look at these records, it’s clear that that didn’t just happen overnight. These transactions go back six months. Hundreds of deposits. It’s like keeping two sets of books. The regular system always said he had three million, but below the surface, his little invention was quietly creating the full three hundred. Then, when the gold-plated nest egg got big enough – wham! – they went to grab it. But we nabbed it first – and as it was sent on its way, the second set of books merged with the first, and every one of his fake deposits now somehow correlated with a real transaction at the bank.”
“Maybe that’s how the program works,” Charlie jumps in. “Like the forty million we transferred to Tanner Drew – it waits for a real transaction to take place, then takes a random amount that’s under the audit criteria. By the end, you’ve got a whole new reality.”
“It’s the same thing happening now,” I agree. “The bank thinks Duckworth’s account is empty, but according to this, there’s a new five million in there. The crazy thing is, none of the people he took it from is missing any cash.”
“Maybe it just looks like they’re not missing cash. For all we know, whatever my dad put in the system could be wiping them clean.”
I shake my head no. “If that were true, Tanner Drew wouldn’t have been able to transfer forty million bucks. And if Drew was shorted a single dime, we would’ve heard it the instant it happened. Same with Sylvia and the rest. The richer they are, the more they inspect.”
“So that’s the big ultra-secret?” Gillian interrupts. “Some diddly computer virus that makes a few people rich?”
“We should be so lucky,” I say, turning back to the blue glare.
Charlie watches me carefully. He knows that tone. “What’re you saying?” he asks.
“Don’t you see what Duckworth did? Sure, on the small stage, he invented some cash, but when you pull the microscope back, it’s far bigger than just adding a few zeros to your bank account. To pull this off, he not only sidestepped all of our internal controls – he also somehow fooled the bank’s computer system into thinking it was dealing with real money. And when we transferred that money out, it was good enough to fool the London bank, and the bank in France, and every bank after that. In some of those places – including ours – we’re talking state-of-the-art, military-designed computer systems. And Duckworth’s imaginary transactions fooled them all.”
“I still don’t see what’s-”
“Take it to the next level, Charlie. Forget the private banks and the tiny foreign institutions. Grab Duckworth’s program and sell it to the highest bidder. Let a terrorist organization get ahold of it. Even worse, put it in a too-big-to-fail.”
“A what?”
“Too-big-to-fail. It’s what the Federal Reserve calls the top fifty or so banks in the country. Once Duckworth’s little worm digs in there, your three hundred million is suddenly three hundred billion – and it’s flowing everywhere – Citibank… First Union… down to the little mom-and-pops across the country. The only problem is, when all is said and done, the money’s not real. And the moment someone realizes that the Emperor’s not wearing any clothes, the pyramid scheme collapses. No bank trusts its own records, and none of us knows if our bank accounts are safe. The whole world lines up at the teller windows and the ATMs. But when we go to make our withdrawals, there’s not enough real cash to go around. Since the money’s fake, every bank runs out of funds. The too-big-to-fails implode first, then the hundred smaller banks that they lend to, then the hundreds of banks below those. They all crater at once – all of them searching for money that was never really there. Sorry, sir, we can’t cover your account – all the money in the bank is now gone. And that’s when the real panic begins. It’ll make the Depression look like a quick stock market dip.”
Even Charlie can’t make a joke about this one. “You think that’s what they want it for?”
“Whatever they want, there’s one thing I know for sure: The only proof of what actually happened is right here,” I say, once again tapping the screen.
Click.
Account Balance: $5,104,221.60.
The elevator pings behind us as ninety-one thousand new dollars stare back at us from the screen. Charlie checks the elevator, but no one steps out.
Glancing over his shoulder, I see it too. We’ve been here too long. “We should print this out…”
“… and get out of here,” he agrees.
“Wait,” Gillian says.
“Wait?” Charlie asks.
“I-I just… we should be careful with this one.”
“That’s why we’re printing it out. For proof,” he says as he stares her down. This close, his fuse is shorter than ever.
There’s an out-of-date laser printer right next to the computer. I flip a switch and it grumbles to life. Grabbing the keyboard, Charlie hits Print. On screen, a gray dialog box pops up: Error in writing to LPT1: Please insert copy-card. At the base of the printer is a handwritten card that says: All copies fifteen cents per page.
“Where do we get a copy-card?” he demands.
There’s a machine in the corner. Two people are standing in front of it, stuffing dollar bills down its throat. Charlie’s in no mood to wait. A few computers down, the porno kid has a copy-card sitting on his desk. “Hey, young sir,” Charlie calls out. “I’ll give you five bucks for your card.”